


It's Better To Have Loved and Lost

by MadameCissy



Category: Major Crimes (TV), The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:58:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4588713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameCissy/pseuds/MadameCissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon too much time had passed for her to pick up the phone. The silence had gone on for too long. There was nothing left to be said, nothing left to be told. Brenda had let it slip through her fingers, had watched it fade away, and there was nothing she could do to bring it back.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.  
Alfred Lord Tennyson_

She didn't mind the Los Angeles heat. Although it was completely different from the grey clouds that usually gathered in the skies over DC this time of year, it hadn't taken her any time to adjust to it again. Something about feeling the sun burn down on her skin made her feel right back at home. She hadn't realised just how much she'd missed it until she felt it again. Perhaps because the sun reminded her of Atlanta, of playing in her parents' back yard when she was a little girl. She'd spent days and days on the swing her Daddy made for her, the sun tanning her skin and bringing out her freckles. The swing hung from the thickest, heaviest branch on the old oak tree all the way in the back of the yard with rope as thick as her arm and a seat made out of a shelf from her Mama's old wardrobe. She'd been six when Daddy had first showed it to her; it had been a birthday surprise. She still swung on it when she was sixteen, albeit with a different view of the world.

Brenda Leigh Johnson had moved back to Los Angeles four months ago. Newly divorced, something she still had to get used to, and without a clear goal in life. The second the ink on the divorce papers was dry she'd packed her bags, quit her job and got on the first flight to the city where her now ex-husband lived. To most people that would seem like an odd decision but to Brenda, it made perfect sense. Well, up to a point it did, anyway. She hadn't actually told her ex-husband she was back in town. Neither had she told anyone else.

Moving to DC had been the ultimate test of their marriage. Whereas the outside world somehow seemed to think their relationship was bulletproof, Brenda had known better. The cracks had been showing for some time and no matter how much you try to fix a piece of glass that's been shattered and put back together, you can always see where it had been broken. Her marriage to Fritz had been the same. Moving to DC had just been their way of acknowledging that instead of giving up immediately, they were testing the water first; to see how they felt about being separated. Three months in and Brenda had never felt more relieved. Five months in and the ink on the papers was dry. And now she'd been back for four months and nobody knew. Not even Fritz.

Los Angeles was the closest thing to what Brenda would call home. She'd lived here for seven years, most of it happily. It had been a choice between Los Angeles and Atlanta but there was only so much of her Daddy she could stomach and although she felt guilty for admitting it and worried about him being lonely since her Mama died, she had come back to Los Angeles instead.

She'd bought a lovely house in Silverlake. Brenda had fallen in love with it the moment she saw it. It was the perfect mixture of modern and traditional, with a big wide front porch complete with a wooden swing bench. Inside the downstairs had hardwood floors, worn by the years of use from the family who had lived here before her, a newly fitted kitchen and a large living room. Upstairs were three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The backyard was low maintenance, which was an added bonus since Brenda possessed the questionable ability to kill even a cactus. The yard had a lawn and she'd decorated the patio with some flower pots. She'd bought herself a garden set complete with white umbrella and pink cushions and that was where she sat now, the wine glass in front of her half full of her favourite Merlot.

It was almost 11 pm and darkness had fallen some time ago. The sounds of the neighbourhood kids playing had faded and now just silence remained, a rare feat in Los Angeles. Brenda had grown to love the silence. She found it comforting. It gave her a chance to reflect, to think. Once upon a time she would have considered it to be her enemy, but now it was her solace.

She'd finished decorating one of the bedrooms today. It had become her office, complete with mahogany desk and expensive leather chair. She'd put all the various books she owned, accumulated over the years that she'd spent in various cities in various jobs, in the bookcase she'd miraculously managed to put together herself, and old files that she kept, copies of things she wasn't quite ready to let go off, the one about Philip Stroh lying on top, in the bottom drawer of her desk. The top one was filled with copious amounts of chocolate and sweets. The laptop stood in the middle of the desk and the picture of her Mama and Daddy smiling during their Hawaiian Cruise stood next to it.

The walls were painted in what the can of paint had described as Papaya Whip. It was a soft, pale shade of yellow, warming and soothing; it brightened up the room. Plush new carpeted covered the floor and on the wall behind her desk she'd hung up her degree from Georgetown University. Not that she was particularly proud of her achievement that she felt the need to show it off - unlike some lawyers and doctors she had encountered throughout her career- but because it felt right, hanging there in its perfect little black frame. Her medals and awards won during her time in the LAPD were displayed beside it.

As she sat outside, Brenda walked through her newly decorated office space in her head. She didn't know when she would be using it or what for. She didn't have a job. She wasn't even sure she wanted one. The advantage of having lived in an apartment paid by the government was that it had allowed her to save and when she'd quit, they'd given her a pay out too. It would leave her comfortable enough to pay her mortgage and support herself in general for another few months, giving her time to decide what it was she wanted to do. She'd had offers. Good offers. Only earlier that day she'd heard David Gabriel on her voicemail saying that the DA had asked after her, wondering if now that the divorce was final, she was contemplating coming back. No, finding a job wasn't the problem. The problem was that Brenda didn't know if she wanted to find one. She didn't know if she was ready to go back to something that was part of a life she was no longer living. The last thing that had tied her to that life was her marriage and now that it was over, picking up where she had once left off was just something she wasn't sure was right.

She filled her days with reading her old files, one in particular, and reading. She'd always had a love for books, ever since High School, but when she started working for the CIA and then Atlanta PD and LAPD, she'd barely had time. There were several books still on her shelf that she hadn't read. Some classics but also crime thrillers. She found reading kept her brain sharp and it allowed her to escape, hide away from the new life she was living now but wasn't quite prepared to face.

Brenda heaved a sigh and pushed herself out of her comfortable chair. The nights were cool in Los Angeles and a cold chill crept down her spine. Her cardigan did nothing to protect her from the cool breeze anymore and she carried her now empty glass into the kitchen. She left it there, on the side. Unwashed. She had a perfectly functioning dishwasher but she hardly ever used it. She didn't give the glass a second glance, kicked off her shoes by the living room door that led to the hall and made her way up the stairs.

Being alone in DC had helped her remember, or perhaps just made her realise, who she was, or who she had once been. Her marriage to Fritz had seemed like the perfect thing to happen but the longer she was away from him and his irritating habit of nit picking, she'd realised it was far from perfect. Brenda wasn't so arrogant as to believe that she herself was perfect, she was well aware of her faults, but Fritz wasn't. He didn't like to admit that he could be wrong. This was the man who had struggled to admit to her - and to himself- that he was, in fact, an alcoholic. But he was perfectly happy to point out her mistakes and flaws. He didn't like her shoes being left in the living room or her dirty coffee cup abandoned on the kitchen counter. He didn't like the way she did the housework and the amount of time she put into her job. Being away from him had helped Brenda see that he'd tried to change her into something she wasn't; he'd wanted her to become the wife he'd always dreamed of having.

The cracks had really started to show during the Turrell Baylor trial. Brenda had needed his support, his understanding, but he hadn't been there when she needed him. All he'd cared about was making it go away, making it stop. He hadn't thought about how Brenda felt, about what the trial and the accusations were doing to her. He'd been happy to go along with whatever Pope wanted, even if it meant selling her out. Fritz had shown his true colours during the trial and moving to Washington once it was all over and she'd quit her job, had felt like a relief, even if it had taken her a couple of years to realise it was what she needed.

Brenda walked in to the master bedroom and switched on the lamp on her bedside table. The room was now partly lit up in a soft golden glow. She turned to the bed and picked up the two KitKat wrappers she'd left on the bedspread earlier that morning. Not exactly what most people considered to be a healthy breakfast but for Brenda, it worked. She dumped the wrappers in the small waste bin next to the wardrobe and made her way into the ensuite. When she switched on the light she caught her own reflection and looked at herself in the mirror.

Here she was, in her fifties, with - according to the outside world at least-very little to show for it. She was twice divorced, not exactly shocking considering this was Los Angeles after all, didn't have any children, lived alone and had only just bought her first house. On top of that she didn't have a job. Brenda studied her face a little longer. The lines around her eyes had become a little more obvious over time but they didn't bother her. Time had been kind to her, she thought. She was grateful for her mother's great genes. One of the many valuable things Willie Rae had given her in her life.

Brenda turned away from her reflection, picked up her toothbrush and added some tooth paste. It was a brand Fritz had never liked. She'd bought it once, and he'd gone back to the store to get the brand he always used. She snorted as the memory popped back in her head. And Fritz claimed she was the one who had trouble with change.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face. She'd shower in the morning before going out. Brenda brushed her hair, then put the brush down and switched off the light in the ensuite. She unbuttoned her jeans whilst walking into the bedroom and left them on the floor. She pulled her cardigan off and it fell down a couple of inches to the right of her jeans. She removed her white tank top and her bra and eventually her panties and took a clean pair from the drawer beside the bed. She slipped them on before picking a simple pink tank from the same drawer and slipped it over her head. Brenda pulled back the bedsheets and as she sat down, her gaze fell on the small glass statue on the windowsill.

It was one of the very few things from her old life that had found its way back to Los Angeles. It had been a gift from someone of whom she hadn't expected it. The statue was cut out of clear glass and represented victory over oneself, or so Sharon had said. Sharon Raydor. Captain Sharon Raydor. The person Brenda had expected to miss the least when she left but had instead been the person she had ended missing the most.

The person she still missed the most.

She could quite easily have strangled Sharon when they first met. She'd thought about it on numerous occasions. Probably would've gotten away with it too. But, as with many things in life, things took a surprising turn and her initial dislike of Sharon Raydor had turned into something else. Appreciation. Respect. Admiration. And then...

Brenda looked away from the statue, her chest suddenly feeling constricted, and tried to force the image of Sharon Raydor out of her head. The last time she'd seen her was at the farewell party her old squad had thrown her. It had been Andy's idea after they learned she was going to Washington. Up until then she saw the old members of her team occasionally. The annual Christmas party, the odd get together in a bar. She would usually accompany Fritz but the team was always happy to see her. They were doing well under Sharon's leadership. Brenda had expected no less. It was the reason she had suggested Sharon be the one to take over after she left. The team had been as reluctant to accept Sharon as they'd been to accept Brenda but they'd come round eventually. It also hadn't come as a surprise that Sharon admitted to being in on the whole organisation of the party after Brenda had cornered her in the ladies room, demanding to know if Sharon knew. The look of amusement on Sharon's face when Brenda walked into the bar and stood nailed to the floor in shock was something Brenda remembered to this day.

They'd all said their goodbyes individually. Sharon was last. She'd asked if they could talk, alone. Brenda had followed her out into the cool Los Angeles evening air, leaving the warmth and the music behind them, and they stood on the sidewalk for a little while without speaking. Sharon's mind seemed miles away and Brenda had used that opportunity to look at her, really look at her.

Her eyes had trailed from Sharon's thick, brown locks down the lines of her neck, accented by the white button down shirt she was wearing that left just enough skin exposed to leave Brenda wondering if the freckles she saw on Sharon's neckline continued further down. Brenda's cheeks had flushed a faint shade of pink as her eyes dropped down further, once again taking in the tight skinny jeans Sharon had chosen to wear. The outfit was finished off by black leather boots.

The familiar feeling had crept up on her the longer her eyes lingered on the older woman. Brenda loved Sharon Raydor.

She'd realised some time during the trial but it had been lingering for so much longer. Brenda had just not understood what it meant. But then it had come crashing down one night. She'd had another fight with Fritz. They'd been fighting a lot. She'd stormed out of the house they shared in her pyjamas, out into the pouring rain. She'd driven aimlessly around town for two hours before arriving outside of Sharon's condo. She never knocked the door, looked up at the illuminated window instead. Saw Sharon walk through her living room. Brenda had gone back out into the rain and cried.

Leaving the LAPD meant really leaving Sharon. Brenda had tried to stay in touch but she got caught up in her job and her miserable life. Seeing Sharon occasionally was painful and reminded her of the lie she was living. When the job offer in DC came along she'd grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

Her marriage to Fritz had been dying a slow and painful death and she'd stuck her head in the sand, not wanting to face the inevitable. The job offer in DC had been an escape, a way to get out of her marriage. It offered an opportunity to start over, to turn the final page and close the book. Instead it opened up something that Brenda could never have imagined.

Standing outside of Malone's, Brenda watched how Sharon fingered the hem of her white shirt between her index finger and thumb. A soft gust of wind pulled at Sharon's hair, making it look like it was dancing to a silent tune. When Sharon looked up, her eyes were dark behind her glasses. "I'm going to miss you, Brenda Leigh," she said. It sounded heartfelt and Brenda realised Sharon meant it.

Brenda felt warm inside. She couldn't explain it. She slapped Sharon playfully on her forearm instead when words failed her. She didn't pull her hand back when Sharon's fingers closed around her wrist. She gasped softly. Sharon's fingers were warm against her skin and seemed to almost burn her.

Somehow she regained the ability to speak. "Don't be silly, Sharon. I've been gone for years." It was meant to sound light hearted. It didn't. It carried an echo of regret.

Sharon took a step towards her. There was hardly any distance between them now. Brenda could see the streetlights reflecting in Sharon's eyes and only vaguely registered the fact that they were standing near the window. People inside could see them. They had never been closer than this. Brenda realised she didn't want Sharon to move away. Her green eyes held Brenda's brown ones. Her voice was soft. "You know that's not what I mean, Brenda."

"Then what do you mean?" The question had left her lips like a whisper. Brenda didn't dare speak any louder, afraid that whatever this was would just disappear, that she was imagining all of this. If this was all she could have, then she would take it. Just one moment. Sharon's hand was still warm against her own and Brenda's heart thundered in her chest when the brunette moved even closer until her body was pressed against Brenda's. Sharon's hands dropped down to Brenda's waist as she brought her face closer. Brenda could feel Sharon's warm breath against her skin.

"I think you know what I mean."

The kiss was quick and chaste.

Sharon's lips were soft and warm against Brenda's and before Brenda fully realised what was happening, before she even had chance to wrap her arms around Sharon, it was over. She wanted to reach out, grab hold of Sharon and pull her back but instead she stood frozen, her arms hanging down beside her body.

Sharon whispered, "Goodbye, Brenda" in her ear and then spun on her heel.

She was gone, disappeared in a taxi, and Brenda was left standing on the sidewalk, the wind rustling her hair, trying to process what had happened. Sharon had kissed her. She stared into the street without really seeing anything. When she felt Fritz's hand on her shoulder she jumped. He asked her if she was ready to go.

As she looked back at the spot where Sharon had stood moments earlier, Brenda realised she wasn't. But she went anyway.

That was the last time she'd seen or spoken to Sharon Raydor. Brenda arrived in Washington the next day and when she closed the door to her new apartment behind her, she sank down to the floor with her back against the door and cried.

Numerous times in the months that followed she picked up her phone and found Sharon's number only to put the phone back down. She'd written dozens of text messages but never sent a single one. Had rung Sharon once from her office phone, knowing the number was withheld. Sharon's voicemail had kicked in and Brenda had cried when she heard Sharon's warm voice asking her to leave a message. She hung up,

As the divorce proceedings unfolded, Brenda thought about Sharon more often. She wondered about the kiss, about what it had meant. Had it meant anything at all to Sharon? If it had, was it the same as what it had meant to Brenda? Had she walked away from having something she could actually treasure?

As the days turned into weeks and weeks faded into months, Brenda didn't call Sharon again. Sharon never called her. She didn't know what to say, was afraid of what Sharon would say in return. She and Fritz stopped speaking too. Their lawyers did the talking for them. Soon too much time had passed for her to pick up the phone. The silence had gone on for too long. There was nothing left to be said, nothing left to be told. Brenda had let it slip through her fingers, had watched it fade away, and there was nothing she could do to bring it back.

Brenda sighed and climbed into bed, thoughts of Sharon still swirling around in her head. Being back in the same city had opened up something inside her she thought had long since been closed. She caught herself looking at the faces of a crowd, desperate to catch a glimpse of those brown locks, or hear the soft tones of Sharon's voice. There had been a moment where she thought she saw her, a block from the courthouse, but by the time Brenda had blinked, Sharon, or the person she believed to be Sharon, was gone.

Brenda instinctively rolled on to her side, towards the window and for a while she stared at the glass sculpture, remembering the moment Sharon's lips had found hers. She could still feel her. Brenda ached inside as the memories tormented her and she growled in frustration before she rolled onto her back, folded her hands behind her head and stared up at the ceiling, wishing for sleep to come. The sheets felt like they were strangling her and Brenda kicked them off, cursing herself for having fallen into this trap once again. Hours ticked by on the clock beside her bed and Brenda eventually drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

*

She walked into the coffee shop looking for only one thing; caffeine. It was Saturday morning and she'd spent the last hour sitting across a table from a ghost from the past. The call had come as a surprise two days earlier. Hearing the woman's voice making her offer that seemed almost too good to be true had pushed Brenda over the edge and she had agreed to the meeting without a moment's hesitation. She'd thought she could cope longer with staying at home, that she could live this new found life, but the walls had started to close in on her. Memories lurked in every corner, in every file she read. They stared at her from the glass figure in her bedroom and from her own reflection in the mirror. She had walked away from her marriage to Fritz not to become some kind of hermit. She had always lived to work and she needed it like she needed oxygen to breathe.

"Brenda, I am so glad you decided to accept my offer," Madeline Shelton had said after inviting Brenda into her home. She'd led her to her office and Brenda had taken in the amazing view over the valley from the big floor to ceiling windows before sitting down in one of the two leather arm chairs in the corner of the room and accepted the ice cold glass of mineral water Madeline handed to her.

She hadn't seen Madeline for almost ten years. Not since leaving the CIA. Madeline had been another interrogator and Brenda had worked with her on a few occasions. She had yet to meet someone who was so perfectly tuned in to deception, who could make suspects squirm in their seats simply by looking at them. It was as if Madeline could smell a lie. Brenda had seen her do this that marveled her even to this day. To get a call after a decade from her old friend, one of the few she still had, had come as a surprise.

Brenda pressed her fingertips together. "How did you know I was in LA?"

Madeline grinned. "You forget who I work for." Her grin widened. "Who you will soon be working for."

"I'm still bein' watched?"

"You impressed a lot of people. Brenda."

Brenda's lips curled up. "I wouldn't call it that, exactly."

She used the opportunity to study her friend. Madeline had aged well, Brenda thought. Her face still appeared void of wrinkles, even if she was almost ten years Brenda's senior. Intelligent grey eyes were fixed on Brenda. Her make-up had been carefully applied, almost as if the whole thing had been thought through. Madeline wore casual navy linen pants and a red sleeveless shirt. The only thing that hinted at her age were the fine streaks of silver Brenda observed near Madeline's temple.

Madeline leaned back in her chair and studied Brenda from over the rim of her glass. The ice cubes clinked together. "So what brought you back to Los Angeles?"

Brenda opened her mouth to answer but then changed her mind. Instead she clutched her glass and sipped from the ice cold water. It trickled down her throat, soothing the sense of panic that had grabbed hold of her heart. Being confronted with the question had only pointed it out more. She'd come back for something she had already lost.

The rest of the conversation had centered on the job Madeline had offered her and Brenda had agreed after just ten minutes. After that the conversation had shifted to the past and Brenda confessed to her marriage falling apart after Madeline informed her that she was in the middle of divorcing her third husband. They'd talked about people they had worked with in the past and Madeline had suggested they meet again during the week to discuss the finer details of the jon. Brenda had agreed and she'd left Madeline's house with her mind racing and her hearty thundering in her chest.

The coffee shop was three blocks from Madeline's house. Brenda had never been here before. She'd investigated a murder once, just across the street, and she was sure that the coffee shop hadn't been here then. She eyed up the line. There were four people ahead of her. Enough time to study the list of coffee varieties available and come to a decision. The options were written down neatly in block capitals and Brenda studied them all, eventually settling for a double espresso. She glanced over her shoulder. The line had gotten longer since she walked in. Six people behind her. The coffee in this place had to be good.

"Good morning, how can I help you?" the girl behind the counter asked and Brenda placed her order. She added a chocolate muffin, just out of habit, and paid with a twenty dollar bill. She slipped the change in her pocket and waited for her order. She looked up just as the door to the coffee shop opened again and froze.

Sharon Raydor walked into the coffee shop, dressed in a pair of black slacks and an elegant dark red sweater. Her brown hair was half up and she had her cell phone pressed against her ear. Brenda couldn't make out what she was saying. She just stared, her heart hammering in her chest and the back of her throat suddenly dry. Brenda watched as Sharon rummaged around in her handbag with her free hand and found her purse. She then ended the phone call. The cell phone disappeared in the handbag and Sharon looked up. Brenda turned away and snatched her coffee cup and muffin off the counter. She took a step back in an attempt to stay out of Sharon's line of sight, and followed a couple of teenagers as they left the coffee shop.

Her arm almost brushed against Sharon's. She didn't look up. Stared at the floor instead. She could have sworn she heard Sharon mutter something that sounded like 'sorry'. Tears stung behind her eyes as when she stepped out into the early morning sunshine. Brenda stood on the sidewalk, clutching her coffee, and turned back around. Through the window she watched as Sharon stood in line, waiting to place her order. Brenda watched her the way she had watched Sharon countless times before. Seeing her here like this, hurt.

She wanted to go back inside. She wanted Sharon to turn around and see her. She wanted to talk to her. She wanted to do… something.

But it was too late. She'd waited too long. Too much time had passed.

Sharon looked well, Brenda thought. She looked happy. She'd smiled when she talked on her cell phone. She had moved on.

Brenda had not.

She turned around, away from the coffee shop and away from Sharon, and slowly began to walk. Every step felt like a knife turning inside her heart. She increased her pace, faster and faster, and fought against the pain that had firmly settled in her chest. She threw her coffee and muffin in the first trashcan she saw and wiped a lonely tear from her cheek.

*

Sharon handed one of the cups to Rusty as she slid back into the driver's seat of her car, dropping her handbag on the backseat. He eagerly took it and took a small sip from the scorching hot liquid. Sharon watched him with a bemused smile on her face. She'd driven Rusty to this particular coffee shop before their shopping trip to the mall because he claimed they served the best macchiato in the whole of LA.

"Good?" she asked when her son turned to look at her. She was struck by how young he still looked. Some days she forgot he was barely a man. He was so grown up in many ways and yet he was only a child. She could still see the frightened teenager in his eyes. He'd been so lost when he walked into her life and most days Sharon still struggled to really understand just exactly how they'd found each other. Rusty had given her life a new meaning, had pushed it into a different direction.

"The best," Rusty replied and he shifted in his seat. "Hey, did you see Brenda in there just now?"

"Brenda?" Sharon swallowed. The name had slipped over her lips like a whisper. It had been a while since she'd spoken the name out loud. She took a deep breath, tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. The sharp pang of pain in her heart left behind something…. Something she couldn't put into words. Somehow she was unable to look her son in the eye. "Rusty, Brenda's in DC, remember?"

Rusty shook his head. "She just came out of that coffee shop. It was her. I know it was. I almost got murdered in her kitchen. I'm not gonna forget her face anytime soon." He gave Sharon a look she'd come to refer to as the 'Rusty look'. He used it when he was trying to make a point. "I doubt she can be in two places at once, Sharon. Brenda's here."

Sharon picked at the lid that sat on top of her cup of simple black coffee. "Really?"

"Yeah," Rusty answered. "You sure you didn't see her?"

"No, why?"

"Because she turned back round and looked through the window for like five minutes, so I think she definitely saw you."

Sharon didn't answer. Instead she looked out of the car window back at the coffee shop almost longingly, imagined Brenda Leigh Johnson standing on the sidewalk. When she felt Rusty's hand on her arm she sighed and turned the key. The car's engine roared and as she pulled out of the parking spot, Sharon cast a last long look in the rear view mirror and drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

One day becomes two. Two days become a week. One week becomes two and then she can't stand it anymore and Sharon does what she's not supposed to. It's late at night when she searches for Brenda's name in the system. The Murder Room is empty and she stares at the screen in a mixture of shock and confusion for almost a minute when the information pops up, confirming that Brenda is indeed back in Los Angeles. Sharon stares at the address, notices it is not the same as that of Chief Howard. Brenda address is only six blocks from where Sharon lives. She writes it down and keeps the piece of paper in her pocket. She puts Brenda's number in her phone but doesn't call. Doesn't text either.

She sees Fritz the next day. They work a case together. She watches him, waits for him to mention Brenda. He doesn't. Sharon doesn't either. Only then does she notice he no longer wears his wedding ring.

She goes home that night, her head full of thoughts and questions. She parks her car in the parking lot underneath her building and rides the elevator up to her floor. She is so lost in her own mind that she only steps out when the doors are about to close. She sticks the key in the front door and finds Rusty sitting on the couch in the living room watching an episode of COPS. He is in his pyjamas. She smells spaghetti and discovers that Rusty has cooked dinner. She is grateful and kisses him on his head when she carries her bowl into the living room. His sits empty on the coffee table.

"Long day?" he asks her. She knows he's careful, always tries to give her space. He seems to know that on the nights she come home late, very bad things have happened. Though tonight it were not gruesome crime scene images that kept her from going home; it was her own mind. She is sure he can read the worry on her face, can see the questions in her eyes. He's perceptive like that. He seems to know when she's ready to talk and when she isn't.

She just nods. He doesn't ask any further. Message received.

Sharon wants to say it's been a long couple of weeks, ever since first hearing Brenda's name, but instead she just answers, "Yes." She can't bother him with this stuff about Brenda. It is not his to deal with. She studies him from behind her glasses, once again reminded that the only reason he is sitting here is because of Brenda. Sharon puts down her fork, her spaghetti only half eaten. Suddenly she isn't hungry anymore.

Rusty doesn't ask when he sees her carry her bowl back into the kitchen. When Sharon returns she just says, "I'm going to shower."

He still doesn't ask.

She leaves him watching TV and closes her bedroom door behind her, welcoming the comforting silence that lingers there. She rests her back against the door, tilts her head, and feels the tears sting behind her eyes. By the time she reaches her shower, the tears are already on her cheeks.

Sharon switches on the shower and peels the clothes she's wearing away from her skin. She leaves them on the floor and steps under the hot flow of the water, releases a deep breath but it doesn't ease any of the discomfort in her chest. She rinses out her hair, washes away the remnants of make-up still on her face. She tries to wash away the guilt that seems to have crept back up on her, the guilt that is now slowly settling itself back in her chest. Sharon closes her eyes.

She hasn't seen Brenda for months but she finds the woman's image effortlessly in her mind. Standing outside the bar, her face lit up by the streetlamps. Sharon can still see the questions in those eyes, can still hear the words roll off Brenda's lips. She still feels Brenda's mouth against her own, for the briefest of moments, and feels the everlasting burn of goodbye.

She had never ever intended to fall in love with Brenda Leigh Johnson. But it had happened. Sharon had let it happen because when she became aware of her feelings, she had done nothing to stop them or to fight them. She had let them simmer, allowed them to grow into this all-consuming fire they'd eventually become She had seen things in Brenda, felt things when she looked at her which she knew no one else had ever seen.

Saying goodbye had been for the best because Brenda was married and Sharon kind of liked Fritz, even if she did believe he wasn't right for Brenda. She wondered what he saw when he looked at his wife. Did he see the charming naivety, the endearing clumsiness, or even the way Brenda seemed to forget about everything and anyone else in the world? Did he see the way she gave herself so fully to her job because she cared so much, because she wanted to find the answers people needed to find closure? Did he understand what it was like for her, to sometimes stand so alone that it felt she didn't have a single friend in the whole world? She had seen and heard how he sometimes talked to her, like he wanted to change her, wanted to erase the things he didn't like quite as much and mould Brenda into something she simply wasn't meant to be. Sharon still wonders if he did not appreciate the complexity that was Brenda Leigh Johnson.

She remembers the night. Perhaps a little less often these days than she used to but it's never far from her mind. She wishes she could turn it back, change everything, and undo what had been done. Ask Brenda to reconsider. Most of all she wishes that she could erase the sadness from Brenda's eyes when Sharon turned around and walked away.

It had all been too late.

Sharon switches the shower off and uses her white fluffy towel to dry herself and wraps a smaller towel around her hair. Briefly she turns to the mirror, wipes away the condensation, and looks at her own reflection. Her face is bare of the make-up that usually hides the lines around her lips and the rings around her eyes. Time is starting to leave its mark but she does not mind. Sharon scoops the dirty clothes up from the floor and drops them in the hamper by the end of the bed, then crosses the room to her wardrobe. She picks a pair of jeans and a casual grey sweatshirt, chooses a pair of simple white panties and matching bra from her lingerie drawer. She drops the towel and gets dressed without looking at herself in the mirror again.

Her gaze falls on the shelf on the wall when she turns around. Several photo frames, different shapes and different sizes, stand neatly organised side by side. Sharon knows the order by heart. Her parents on their wedding day. The photo is old and yellow, tainted by time. The next one is a picture of Emily on her first birthday, and one of Ricky too. One of the two of them together during a family holiday in Maine. They're both smiling, innocence clearly visible in their eyes. One of the rare occasions they didn't try to kill each other. Then Ricky again, still smiling, but grown now. His graduation cap makes him look older. The next one is Emily in full costume, dancing in The Nutcracker. The two near the end are of Rusty. He sheepishly smiles at the camera in both of them. The last picture is a group photo of the entire squad.

Sharon never put the one of her and Brenda up there. She hasn't been able to look at it since Brenda left but now she carefully opens the drawer where she keeps her jewellery and moves a couple of boxes aside. There, face down towards the back, lies a single photo. Sharon picks it up and turns it over in her hand. Brenda is smiling back at her.

It had been taken during a party at the Police Commissioner's mansion. Provenza had been the photographer and insisted they had their picture taken. 'You know, since I won't have to arrest either of you for killing the other,' he'd said. A week later he'd casually thrown the snap on her desk and smiled. The next day Fritz told them Brenda had accepted a job in DC. The picture went into the drawer that night and it had stayed there, until now.

Sharon carries the picture to the bed and sinks down onto the soft comforter. She remembers the absence of Fritz's wedding ring and she can't remember when the last time was that he mentioned Brenda's name. He'd stopped coming round to the Murder Room as much and Sharon had thought that he was busy over at SOB. The thing that had tied him to Sharon and the others was Brenda. Now that she was gone, what reason did he still have to be there? But now she wondered if he had stopped coming for another reason. Whenever he appeared, someone always asked after Brenda, least of all Sharon. Maybe he had stopped coming because he didn't know what to say.

Sharon puts the photo down on the comforter and leaves the bedroom. She finds Rusty hasn't moved from the couch but has changed the TV channel, probably because he suspects the last thing Sharon wants to see after a long day is more COPS. He ois now watching Will & Grace.

Sharon makes her way into the kitchen and pulls the bottle of white wine from the fridge. She takes a wineglass from the cupboard and pours the wine. She keeps pouring, even after she has reached her usual half full point, and doesn't stop until the glass was almost to capacity. She then puts the bottle back and takes a large gulp from the wine. The alcohol tastes bitter while the wine is sweet. It burns its way down her throat and Sharon picks up the glass and carries it into the living room. The amount of wine on a near enough empty stomach is bound to give her a headache in the morning but right now, she doesn't care.

"Wine?" Rusty observes. "On a week night?" He arches an eyebrow, something Sharon knows he copied from her and then notices the glass is near enough full. "That bad, huh?"

She looks down at her glass. "It's been that kind of a day," she says but then rephrases herself. "It's been that kind of a week, actually."

"Is everything ok? I mean, you're not like hurt or anything?" Rusty looks at her with concern and Sharon is once again struck by how quickly he has grown up, how quick he has been forced to grow up. It is so like him to worry about her. It makes her feel bad. Rusty worries about her. She worries about him too but that the way things should be; mothers worry about their children.

"I'm fine, Rusty," she reassures him and he seems to accept that. She isn't entirely sure if she is being truthful. She certainly doesn't feel fine. Sharon shifts in her seat. It was eating at her, not telling him. He had stopped asking after Brenda a few weeks after she left when Sharon told him she hadn't heard from her.

"But you, like, talked all the time!" Rusty had said.

"I know," Sharon replied.

"Did you two have a fight? I thought Brenda was your friend."

She'd sighed. "She is." She had continued unpacking he dishwasher, put several plates back in the cupboard. It was easier to lie to Rusty with her back turned towards him. "But she's got a new job, Rusty. She's busy. And there's a time difference, too." It was what she'd been telling herself, too. That those were the reasons she and Brenda didn't talk anymore. Not because Sharon had kissed her or that Brenda had kissed her back. They had said goodbye and meant it.

Sharon sits up with Rusty, watches two more episodes of Will & Grace with him, even laughs at some of those ridiculous statements from the character named Karen. They talk about his schoolwork during one of the commercial breaks and he mentions going for coffee after class the next day. But when the last episode is over Rusty says he was going to play a game on his computer before bed. Sharon reminds him not to stay up too late, knowing full well he'll probably still be talking to his friends at 2 in the morning and will need to be dragged out of bed by force to be in time for class. She watches him walk down the hall with a smile.

She tidies up the living room, plumps up the cushions, finds the TV remote hiding behind one of them and puts that morning's newspaper on the pile of stuff to be recycled in the kitchen. She puts the dirty dishes, bowls and glasses in the dishwasher and switches it on. It begins to hum softly as she leaves the kitchen, switching the lights off as she goes. She then takes the dry laundry out of the dryer and sorts through it, leaving Rusty's clean pile outside his bedroom door and catching him making a joke to one of his friends. She knows he is wearing that ridiculous headset he'd begged her to buy for him. She turns away from his door, she doesn't want to invade his privacy, and switches off the remaining lights other than the one in the hall and walks into her bedroom.

She brushes her teeth and uses her mouth wash, then chooses a clean pair of pyjamas, just a deep red satin nightgown that reaches down to her knees with thin straps that sit low on her shoulders. Sharon undresses, leaving the clothes she's put on after her shower neatly folded on the arm chair and slips the nightgown over her head. The fabric feels soft and cool against her skin.

She pulls back the sheets, removes her glasses and puts them down next to her phone, and climbs into bed. The sheets are clean and crisp and still carry the faint smell of detergent. When she rolls over to switch off the light, Sharon's gaze falls on the picture still lying on the comforter. She stares at Brenda's face.

The thought hits her like a ton of bricks. Brenda is back in Los Angeles.

She's living just a few blocks away. It's pretty much down the street. Sharon has driven past it a couple of times recently. She wonders briefly if she would've stopped if she'd known Brenda was living there. The question confines to maul through her head, even after she puts the picture away, face down, and rolls onto her other side.

It's been months. No contact. No calls. No texts. Nothing. She thought about it. Had opened up her email several times, even typed some, but never hit send. What was she going to say? She and Brenda had parted under complicated circumstances. Brenda was married, or at least she had been at the time of their goodbye, and Sharon... Well, Sharon had just made the foolish mistake of falling in love with her. It was like Brenda had said once, "When you work the hours we do, under pressured situations, it is not unusual to find yourself involved with a co-worker."

Sharon had asked Brenda if that involved married once. Back then she had thought it was a line she herself wouldn't cross. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Sharon hadn't just crossed that line, she had stormed right through it.

She groans as the image of the night she said goodbye to Brenda flooded back into her mind. She'd looked so fragile and beautiful in the light of the street lamp. Her lips had tasted of red wine and has been so soft, so warm. The kiss had shattered everything and turning away, leaving Brenda, had taken every bit of self-restraint Sharon could find.

She doesn't sleep, just tosses and turns, kicks off the sheets and pulls them back up when her feet get cold. She gets up to pee, goes back to bed, flips the pillow over to find the cooler side... But sleep doesn't come.

Sharon gets up again around midnight, frustration kicking in. She almost tears off her pyjamas and picks the clothes she wore earlier back up from the armchair. She ties her hair in a simple ponytail, grabs her phone and glasses from the bedside table and steps out of her bedroom. The numbers on the alarm clock next to her bed say 23.59 when she closes the door.

She pads down the hall and hovers briefly outside of Rusty's room. The clean laundry has disappeared and she doesn't hear any noises. She assumes he's asleep. She carries on down the hall and finds her keys in the bowl on the table by the door. They jingle in her hand and the noise is somehow piercing sharp.

Sharon leaves the condo, locks the door behind her and walks down the corridor to the elevator. The corridor is cool and quiet. The elevator doors open and she steps inside, pressed the button for the parking lot and watches the doors slide shut. She recognises Beethoven's Fifth Symphony coming from the tiny speakers.

The elevator stops at the parking lot and Sharon walks to her car. She stars the engine and leaves the building. A quick glance in her rear view mirror confirms that most of the building is dark because most normal people are asleep at this time of night.

She used to find comfort in driving down the streets at night without a particular destination. It had started as a way of getting Emily to sleep when she was a baby. At night she would only fall asleep in her car seat or whilst being rocked so Sharon drove her around town for hours. When Emily got a bit older this need stopped but Sharon's didn't. She didn't get the opportunity very often after Jack left and so the time she got to spend driving, alone, became even more precious. As the years went on it turned into a little sanctuary, a place for her to organise her thoughts. She'd solved more FID and Major Crimes cases behind the wheel of her car than she had behind her desk.

It's dark but the city is full of millions of lights. Bars, fast food restaurants and some small grocery stores are still open. There are always people on the streets. Los Angeles, city of dreams but also of many nightmares, as Sharon has seen over the years. She loves the city, though recently the thoughts about what she'll do when she eventually retires and Rusty leaves home - she has no illusions, she knows he wants to go to college- have been creeping up on her. The condo always felt fine before rusty moved in but the thought of coming home to an empty house every night once he leaves, scares her more than she is prepared to admit.

Traffic isn't bad this time of night. Only those who need to be out on the streets are driving - and perhaps those who are part of activities that shouldn't see the light of day- and Sharon easily makes her way through town. She turns right into another residential street. The houses on either side are beautiful and well maintained. The kind of street where families live. Most drives have two cars and she isn't at all surprised to see that half of them are mini vans. Perfect to drive kids to baseball or soccer practice. Almost all of the houses are dark. A couple have lights on behind the window and Sharon catches a glimpse of a man pacing around, holding a baby. She smiles to herself; her kids are grown but she remembers it well.

When she reaches the end of the street she takes a left and spots the name of the street. She slows down, startled, and realises that she's half a block from Brenda's house. It's down to the right from where she is now. Has she really driven here in the middle of the night without even realising it?

Sharon contemplates turning around. This is ridiculous after all, but instead of putting the car in reverse, she continues to drive and signals to turn right. Another quiet street, another row of beautiful houses, several more driveways with family friendly cars. She's almost surprised that Brenda has chosen to live here, on this street...

Right here.

The car comes to an abrupt stop. Sharon still has her hands on the wheel, her nails digging in to it. Her heart thunders in her chest and slowly she looks up towards the house. Panic sets in when she sees the lights are still on inside, it's all about fight or flight, but she doesn't leave.

The air is surprisingly warm. She hears the sound of a sprinkler and spots it on the neighbour's lawn. The sidewalk is partially wet. She stands there and looks at it, for just a moment, before looking back at the house. She wonders why she got out of the car, stood almost paralysed beside it, her hand still on the driver's side door. She can still turn around, get back in the car and leave. No one would ever know she was here.

But instead Sharon finds herself walking up the driveway, past the dark blue Prius parked there and towards the porch. The front yard is neatly kept. A couple of small flower beds. Nothing that needs a lot of maintenance. She reaches the front door, takes in the sight of the simple flower pot with bright pink flowers standing next to a doormat with the word WELCOME on it.

She holds her breath, fights back the last remnants of the desire to turn around and run, and then she knocks. It is brief and short and then she knows that there is no way back. Her heart pounds in her chest and her throat is dry. She shoves her hands into her pocket. Seconds tick by and then, through the small frosted glass window in the door, she sees a shadow move towards the door.

She recognises Brenda's shape, her face, and her hair, even through the distorted glass. She watches how a hand extends to the doorknob and she hears a lock turn. For a moment Sharon closes her eyes but they snap back up when the door opens. There, backlit by the light coming from the hall, stands Brenda Leigh Johnson.

"Sharon?" Brenda's voice betrays her surprise. "What are you...? How did you..."

"Brenda," Sharon interrupts her. Something coils in the pit of her stomach. Something unidentifiable. She doesn't move. Neither does Brenda.

"We have two choices here," Sharon continues. She doesn't let go of Brenda's gaze. She watches the storm of emotions that flash through them. Surprise. Shock. Anger. Sadness... "We can pretend this never happened and I can turn around and walk away. Or..." There is a slight tremor in her voice and she takes a single step towards the door. Not enough to invade Brenda's space and leaving herself enough room to turn around. Green eyes intently stare into brown ones. To her surprise she sees her own feelings reflected there.

"Or you can let me in."

Brenda doesn't answer, seems to hesitate for a moment. When she averts her eyes Sharon prepares herself to turn around and leave and never come back but then Brenda opens the door a little wider and quietly steps aside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter because I felt this story deserved less of an open ending. So here it is. I am not entirely satisfied with it as it feels rushed and incomplete somehow but I've been stewing over it for long enough now and it isn't going to get any better. So here it is.

She doesn't remember how they made it to Brenda's bedroom. Doesn't remember how a half finished glass of wine led to… _this_.

But Brenda lies beside her, naked, her hands trailing tenderly over Sharon's shoulders. Her touch is soft and warm and her lips taste of chocolate and wine. They're full and sensitive and all-consuming and Sharon is pretty sure she's about to lose herself into something she knows she will never be able to get back from. She knows she doesn't ever want to come back from it.

Sharon opens her eyes for a moment and in the light of the lamp on the bedside table, she takes in the sight of Brenda. Her blonde curls are fanned out over the pillow and her body seems to fit so perfectly against her own. It is in that moment that Brenda opens her eyes too and their gazes lock. Their lips come apart with a soft 'pop' and Sharon misses them immediately.

"I've missed you," Brenda confesses. Her fingers ghost up from Sharon's shoulder to the brunette's face and she follows the line of her jaw down to her lips. Sharon kisses Brenda's fingers and remembers…. That same gesture is what had brought them here.

Brenda had cupped her face when they were standing in the dimly lit kitchen. The touch had been gentle, almost hesitant, as if she'd been trying to make sure that Sharon was real. Then she'd run her thumb over Sharon's lips and had looked at her from under heavy lidded eyes. Sharon had kissed Brenda's thumb, had let the tip of her tongue run along it. It seemed as if time just stopped, as if the past was only a memory. And then the wine was forgotten and there had been only Brenda.

Now their clothes lie scattered over the bedroom floor, unwanted. They'd stumbled in here lost in a passionate kiss, Brenda's arms around Sharon's neck. Sharon's knees had buckled when they encountered the bed and she'd pulled Brenda on top of her. It was as if in those moments they were trying to make up for everything they'd lost, everything they'd taken for granted… everything they still wanted to have and now would never let go.

Sharon smiles, Brenda's fingers still rest against her lips. "I missed you too."

Brenda leans back in and captures Sharon's lips with her own, slips her tongue into Sharon's mouth. Sharon moans into the kiss, pulls Brenda closer, pulls her on top of her but still it doesn't feel close enough, and feels the younger woman straddle her. Brenda's hands are in her hair now, running through brown locks, trying to kiss Sharon harder, taste more of her and Sharon lets her.

Her heart thumps in her chest and her teeth sink into her lower lip when Brenda's mouth moves down to the side of her neck, finds the little spot where she can feel Sharon's heartbeat thundering against her lips and kisses it. Softly at first but then her teeth graze over Sharon's sensitive skin and the brunette[s back arches in delight. Brenda smiles when she feels Sharon's fingernails dig into her shoulder blades. These marks she'll cherish in the morning.

"Oh…" Sharon's breath dies on the tip of her tongue when Brenda's tongue curls around her earlobe and her hot breath leaves Sharon shuddering.

Brenda's body's flush against her own now and she can feel the blonde's full breasts against her chest. Her hands desperately claw at Brenda's back, her body twitching as Brenda continues to kiss the lines of her neck, paying particular attention to the tender flesh just beneath Sharon's ear.

Brenda leaves soft, wet butterfly kisses along the length of Sharon's neck and throat and slowly lowers herself until her mouth encounters the valley between the older woman's breasts. Sharon hisses when Brenda's right hand cups a breast and slides a finger over a hardened nipple. She continues her ministrations and closes her mouth around Sharon's other nipple, drawing an almost desperate gasp from her lover's throat.

She never would have thought, or dared to believe, that she would be seeing Sharon like this. So undone, so willing and so completely trusting. She'd given up on what she had wanted most, had pretended she had moved on, but the moment she'd laid eyes on Sharon in that coffee shop, Brenda knew just how much she'd been lying to herself.

She lets her hands run down along Sharon's sides, across her stomach and felt the C-section scar underneath her fingertips. She will ask Sharon about it one day, she vows. She will ask her about her children, about her family, about the things that make her happy. She will ask her everything there is to know about Sharon Raydor.

"Brenda," Sharon husks when Brenda's tongue dips into her bellybutton. "Brenda…"

"Ssssh," Brenda whispers against Sharon's skin.

She kisses further down, presses the palms of her hands against the insides of Sharon's thighs and carefully moves them further apart. She can smell Sharon's arousal and softly kisses the soft, warm core, feels the heat of Sharon's sex against her lips and she sighs in pleasure when she lets the tip of her tongue slide through Sharon's slick folds.

Sharon feels as if her body is about to explode when Brenda's tongue circles over her clit. Her fingers thread through thick blonde curls and her back arches in delight. Her toes dig into the bedsheets and beads of sweat glisten on her body. Strands of hair fall into her eyes.

"Oh God, yes… Yes, right there…." Sharon's voice is weak. "Brenda…. Please…."

Brenda slides two fingers deep inside Sharon and allows her a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion but then picks up a fast, steady rhythm. With every thrust, a soft moan falls from Sharon's lips and Brenda loves it. She loves hearing it; the whispers of delight, the moans of pleasure. She revels in the fact that she is doing this to Sharon, that she is the one that makes Sharon feel this good.

Sharon knows it will not take long. She already recognises the tingling feeling in the deepest pits of her belly. She hasn't felt it for a long time, had almost forgotten what it felt like. She hasn't exactly been a nun over the years, and she keeps a vibrator in her bedside drawer, but nothing compares to this. The feeling only continues to grow stronger. Brenda's mouth is against her clit now, the tip of her tongue drawing circles, faster and faster, her fingers still thrusting in and out.

Brenda curls her fingers, brushes against that sweet spot, and feels Sharon tighten around her fingers, feels her walls clench. A soft, small gush of wetness covers her fingers and she sucks down on Sharon's clit, feels it throbbing against her lips and then Sharon's body stiffens for a few seconds, her back arches off the bed. Brenda manages to look up and sees Sharon, with her eyes wide open, looking back at her.

Brenda has never seen anything more beautiful in her whole life.

When Sharon comes back down from her high, Brenda is lying next to her, head against her shoulder, with her hand across her stomach and her fingers drawing meaningless shapes. Sharon turns to look at her and kisses Brenda's lips. She can taste herself and it's all the encouragement she needs to roll Brenda onto her back and lower herself on top of her, never breaking their kiss.

Her hand dips between their bodies, finds its way effortlessly between Brenda;;s thighs, and Sharon slides her index finger through Brenda's burning sex.

"You feel so good," she whispers into Brenda's ear.

She first slides one finger inside and then quickly adds a second. When Brenda presses her body harder against her hand, Sharon adds a third digit and settles into a soft, slow pace. Brenda's arms are tightly wrapped around her neck and Sharon feels strengthened when Brenda's legs snake around her lower back and she begins to rock her body.

There had always been an inevitability about her and Brenda finding each other like this someday. From the first moment they met, the tension had been so strong, it drove Sharon close to insanity. And it wasn't just because Brenda infuriated her, but because of all the other things she made Sharon feel at the same time. When Brenda walked into her life, Sharon suddenly felt alive again. Being around Brenda was like a thrill, a drug, and she didn't care what it took to feel that way and all of this, everything that had led up to this moment, had been building from the moment they first laid eyes on each other.

"Sharon."

Sharon looks down at Brenda, finds her staring back up at her. Those big brown eyes are full of all the same emotions Sharon herself feels too and she can read Brenda as well as she can read herself. Brenda is an open book, is baring her entire being to Sharon, and Sharon is seeing everything Brenda had, until now, been trying to hide.

Sharon brings her lips close to Brenda's ear. "Come for me," she commands. She says it softly but she can feel the lust suddenly pulse through Brenda's body.

When Brenda comes, she whispers, "Look at me."

And Sharon does. She looks into Brenda's eyes when she hits her orgasm and she watches. She takes in every second. Every moment. And she cherishes it. Will remember it forever.

Promises herself she will never forget.

When she falls asleep with Brenda's arms around her, her ear over Brenda's heart and the steady beating filling her head, Sharon knows.

The missing piece…. She found it.

~()~

She walks into the kitchen and allows herself a few seconds to take in her new surroundings. She hadn't seen it in full light last night and it's actually a very nice space. The surfaces are made out of solid wood and are clean and tidy, the cupboards are white with stainless steel handles and the double sink under the window overlooks the backyard. Morning light falls onto the kitchen floor. The dishwasher is built in, as is the fridge. Whoever had installed this kitchen had spent some serious money on it. Sharon is impressed.

She opens the fridge, curiosity getting the better off her, and she finds it about half full, with some fruit, a couple of microwave meals and a large stash of fresh vegetables, milk, and some chocolate. She is glad to see there aren't any week old take out boxes in here. She then pads around the room, opening cupboards looking for and eventually finding the dark red mugs. Sharon takes two and puts them on the counter, next to the coffee machine. It's one of those machines you can put little pots in. The pots sit neatly stacked in a chrome stand next to the machine. It isn't that different from the one she has at home and Sharon quickly manages to get the device working after choosing two of the same cups from the small collection. Seconds later the smell of fresh coffee fills her nose. She adds three spoons of sugar to the first cup and stirs it while the second cup is brewing. When it's finished she wipes the counter down with a cloth.

Sharon carries the two cups back into the hall and up the stairs. When she reaches the bedroom she briefly halts in the doorway, her gaze lingering on the bed. Brenda was still asleep, curled up on her side. One leg is covered by the sheets, the other isn't. The soft material barely covers her chest, exposing her arms and her shoulders. Her curls have fallen into her face and Sharon is struck by how innocent Brenda looks.

She softly puts the cup down on the bedside table and brushes a curl out of Brenda's eyes. The blonde's eyelids flutter but don't open. Brenda never was much of a morning person. Sharon softly kisses Brenda's forehead and when she pulls away, brown eyes snap up and Brenda sleepily smiles

"Hi."

Sharon smiles too. "Hi yourself." She points at the cup. "I made coffee."

"Really?" Brenda sniffs the air. "I think I may keep you."

Sharon certainly hopes she will.

Brenda sits up and the sheets fall away from her body. Sharon takes in the marvellous sight of Brenda's naked glory and feels her cheeks flush. Brenda looks absolutely stunning first thing in the morning and Sharon regrets having gotten dressed.

She sinks down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as she sits down beside Brenda. "I'm glad you didn't ask me to leave. Last night, I mean."

Brown eyes find evergreen. "Me too."

"I have to go," Sharon softly says. She feels reluctant. Doesn't want to leave. Feels torn between what she wants to do and what she needs to do. "I need to drop Rusty at school."

Brenda nods. "I understand."

"I wish I could stay."

"You can come back." Brenda sounds hopeful. She means it. "I want you to come back."

"I will," Sharon promises it. "I will."

And she will. She always will.


End file.
